The wedding was small and elegant, and Lily wore a white dress that itched.
She stood at the front of the church holding a basket of rose petals while her father said I do to a woman she did not know.
When it was over, Cecilia took her hand and smiled for the photographer. The moment the camera lowered, she let go and wiped her palm on her skirt.
Lily noticed. Children always do.
Within a month, the house had a new shape. Cecilia's furniture replaced Anna's. Cecilia's portraits replaced Anna's photographs on the staircase wall.
Lily found her mother's piano covered with a sheet in the back room, and when she lifted a corner to look, Cecilia appeared in the doorway like a draft of cold air.
"Don't touch things that don't belong to you."
"It was my mama's," Lily said.
"It is this house's, and this house is mine to run now." Cecilia smiled. "Go and wash your hands for dinner."
At the dinner table, there were rules nobody had written down. Clara and Evelyn sat on either side of their mother.
Edward sat at the head. Lily sat at the far end, next to the empty chair where the guests went.
She learned to eat quickly and without complaint. When the bread basket was passed, it was empty by the time it reached her.
When she asked for a glass of milk, Cecilia would say, "Not so much, dear, you'll spoil your appetite," and the milk would go to Evelyn instead.
Edward saw none of it. He was always looking at his phone, or his watch, or the door.
"Business," he would sigh, standing before dessert. "I have a flight in the morning."
"Of course, darling." Cecilia would touch his sleeve. "Don't worry about the house. I have everything under control."
She did. That was the terrible part.
When Edward was home, Cecilia was warm. She ruffled Lily's hair in front of him. She said things like "our Lily is a quiet one, but a sweetheart," and Edward would nod, relieved to find his daughter looked after.
When the front door closed behind him, the warmth went out like a lamp.
"You'll eat in the kitchen," Cecilia told her one evening, six-year-old Lily standing in the doorway with her small plate. "There isn't room at the table tonight."
"But there's an empty chair."
"It is reserved." Cecilia did not look up from her magazine. "And, Lily? We don't tell Papa about every little thing.
He works so hard, and it would only upset him. You wouldn't want to upset him, would you?"
Lily shook her head slowly.
"Good girl."
She carried her plate into the kitchen, where the light was dim and the house felt very big.
A cook she did not know was scrubbing a pot. The cook glanced up, saw her face, and said nothing.
But somewhere behind the cold, a door opened, and a woman with kind, tired eyes stepped through.